The sun is at its most splendid in a faultless blue sky which is filled with a cacophony of birds, singing for sex. Okay, I assumed the sex bit, but it is spring and isn’t that about nesting and eggs and stuff?
It’s the holidays, and far too good a day to waste at home.
Me: Let’s go to the beach
Daniel: I’m meeting friends soon
Jamie: Why?
Not so long ago, the beach was our favourite destination and as likely to be turned down as an ice cream. It’s one of the few places that doesn’t feel spoilt by *progress* and I love going somewhere that’s still run by nature.
Deflated by their refusal, I fall back on prosaics, offer them lunch and stand in the garden listening to the first cuckoo.
Trouble is, we’ve got conflicting agendas now. The older they get, the more they want to break free, and I’m clutching at these last few years together whilst watching them pull away. I know it has to happen, but so do taxes, and I don’t welcome those either.
They’re at the age where getting older is one of the perks of being a teenager.
Daniel: I don’t know why you mind so much – I’m happy to be older
Me: That’s because you’re young
Daniel: So?
So indeed. When you’re young, everything is close together, and you haven’t learnt that age separates you from people and times that you’ve loved. I wouldn’t mind ageing if it meant I could still keep my memories close, but the years jump in to pull us apart and they dissipate.
I don’t want to return to the early years of parenthood, where sleep was someone else’s dream, cleaning your teeth a luxury and the greatest gift was being given time off. However, a quick visit back in a time machine would be fab.
But for now at least, I’ve still got teenagers and whilst they might not be as cuddly as babies, they’re much more fun.
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